


in the city, sing about me - nct

by arrowthroughtheheart



Series: Rude Boys Hit the Track [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Aged Up NCT Dream, Cottagecore, Established Park Jisung/Zhong Chen Le, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kinda, Letters, M/M, Multi, NCT Dream Ensemble-centric, Park Jisung (NCT) is Whipped, Shy Park Jisung (NCT), Tiny bit of Angst, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Zhong Chen Le-centric, but not rlly, but who knows, chenle and jisung lives together, farmer!chenle, idk if he can irl, im being messy with it so u take what i give u, introverted jisung, jisung can cook here, lmaoaoaoa, misfit gang crashing over to live with chensung: the fic, not really - Freeform, or gardener, runawayboy chenle, soft, two years before the present fic's timeline, wow these tags, ya gotta squint to see it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27485683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrowthroughtheheart/pseuds/arrowthroughtheheart
Summary: “I hope they don’t mind radish,” Jisung hums after a few silent seconds. Chenle made some sort of croaking noise that could easily be mistaken as an old man wheezing, soon followed with a joke Jisung wished he’ll be able to unhear.“Don’t worry, Jisung,” Chenle chuckles, “your radish is. . . rad.”
Relationships: Jung Sungchan & Zhong Chen Le, Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Lee Taeyong, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan & Mark Lee, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee, Lee Jeno/Park Jisung, Lee Taeyong & Zhong Chen Le, Park Jisung (NCT)/Everyone, Park Jisung/Zhong Chen Le, Zhong Chen Le/Everyone
Series: Rude Boys Hit the Track [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007070
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	in the city, sing about me - nct

**Author's Note:**

> notes! taeyong likes calling his friends w/ their birthnames rather than their nicknames in this story (that's why i change back and forth how others call certain people and how taeyong calls them) and here's the list of names, if you're new to the fandom.
> 
> Yoonoh: Jaehyun  
> Guanheng/Kun-Hang: Hendery  
> Minhyung: Mark  
> and everyone else is the same. I think.
> 
> disclaimer!   
> since the stories in these series don't follow a certain timeline (as in you'll never know for sure where in the clusterfuck of this universe's timeline the next part is going to be) most of these things can be read as a standalone fic, but a few things about it might be confusing, if you choose to read at your own laws. but even if you DO read it in order, things might still be confusing. so do as you want!

It’s not like Zhong Chenle is overprotective.

Well, not to his own parents, at the very least. Especially not since they adopted an older boy when he’s 10-years-old. If Chenle is able to choose, he’d describe himself as a floating mass of nothingness. Yes, that’s about it. 

Instead of being an absolute insufferable brat to his adopted older brother, Jung Yoonoh--well, Zhong Jaehyun, technically, but even until now the name still feels odd on his tongue--Chenle gave him the space he needed to settle in, having watched over a dozen orphanage documentaries and various fictional renditions of how hard it is for children to settle in with their foster families. Sooner than expected, though, Chenle began realizing that those fictional renditions are far more accurate for Jaehyun than the realistic documentaries described. 

Chenle’s seen how manipulative Jaehyun was-- _ is;  _ since his older  _ brother  _ brought Taeyong home, secretly. It’s nothing naughty, nothing blasphemous, nothing Chenle felt the need to report on. Well, not to his parents, at the very least. 

To the police, however, he weighed the option a lot.

Especially one special night, when Chenle himself retired early to go to bed, his eleven-year-old brain exhausted from all the school-works he’s supposed to hand over the next day. Jaehyun stopped trying to be discreet around Chenle’s room a long time ago, but this one night he was. . . messy. 

Chenle overheard the fact that his friend went missing a few weeks ago from his parents, fussing over how Jaehyun’s poor friend was adopted by someone with weird. . . intentions. Chenle almost gagged, though he’s become a master of schooling his expressions. He didn’t know if Jaehyun’s messy ass was crying over his friend, that night, so he followed the trail of messily ripped tissues and came to the attic.

He’s hanging by the door, holding onto the handle to prevent the creaking noise he knows oh-so-well, and at that point, Chenle realized both his step brother and his  _ boyfriend  _ were batshit crazy.

There’s a pool of blood they’re trying to so desperately wipe off the floor, and standing there made Chenle complacent. Too late now, he’s already seen it. It’s a cat. He has no idea what in the world they decided to kill a cat for, much less do it in the attic instead of outside, but he’s beginning to get an overall gist of the situation when he chose to close the door seamlessly behind him, judging the two older boys with a small scoff.

“You know, if you intended to be a psychopath, at least do it smartly,” he voiced out, quiet, but in the noiseless night, it sounded like a big boulder dropped on both of the older boys. Chenle doesn’t think  _ that’s  _ what Jaehyun and his boyfriend is going for, but he tried either way. Digging for information isn’t wrong. “We’re not,” Jaehyun denies, and Chenle pats his own back mentally. For a manipulator, Jaehyun sure is easily manipulated. He can’t say the same for Jaehyun’s boyfriend though, since his eyes are piercing and calculating. “We’re trying to cover for the fact that Taeyong’s leaving.”

Chenle pouts.

“You’re going to pretend you’ve been bringing food and clothes up to the attic for a cat? An adult cat? Not even a kitten?” he questions, and this Taeyong-dude looks even more suspicious. Jaehyun nudged his boyfriend. “Isn’t this good enough for the parents?”

“Enough,” Chenle nods, judgmentally. “They wouldn’t even question it, when they found a dead body. Won’t look either, I bet. You’re safe.” 

Chenle returned to their shared room before Jaehyun, that night, his heart beating unnaturally fast for a healthy eleven-year-old with no heart problems. He noted the encounter as one out of a thousand ways to deal with insanity. He doesn’t hate it. He was deeply scarred, though. 

But whatever. It’s not like he’s afraid. 

He never learned how to be.

What he’s sure of, though, aside from the fact that Jaehyun treats him like he’s indebted to Chenle ever since that day; is that even though Jaehyun being indebted to his tiny insignificant existence sounds like a power-dynamic he would like to toy around with, he’s better off far,  _ far  _ away from Jaehyun and his boyfriend. Even though Chenle’s hardly ever heard of Taeyong ever again, since that night.

And any other night, since he’s forced his parents to put him away to a school somewhere the city doesn't touch. He lives in a dormitory, and the last thing he’s heard of Jaehyun is from a letter the older sent, paid to be sealed perfectly so no one can open it  _ but  _ Chenle. 

It doesn’t take the young man a lot to think what it might be about, but the 20-year-old opens it, anyways, away from his housemate. 

Chenle didn’t have it in him to tell his parents that he has  _ no  _ interest in coming back home after highschool, despite the shitshow humanity was put through for the entire decade, so he simply never did. His parents have Jaehyun--though he’s a psychotic bastard, he’s pretty smart in school and his achievements are always top notch--and in the countryside his highschool stands upon, the demand of manpower skyrocketed ever since a bunch of farmers quit their job under the open sky, the fear of these modified humans overpowering their need to survive life. 

Knowing how his parents--with the addition of Jaehyun--acts around swarming bugs, Chenle knows damn well they won’t travel all the way to the countryside to fetch him back home when ‘monsters’ are on the loose. So here he is, for almost three years, with his long-time project partner whose parents more or less abandoned his ass. Park Jisung.

Jisung’s a year younger than Chenle, but schools were shut down before the kid had the chance to graduate, and after a few antagonizing weeks of waiting for his family members to reach out to him, Jisung picked himself up piece by piece to help Chenle and his fieldwork. Funny how Chenle felt bad when he saw Jisung in that state, knowing damn well that his family members might be feeling the same thing, from not hearing a single drop of news from him for almost four years now. 

Now, how  _ exactly  _ Jaehyun managed to find out where he lives is kind of unnerving, but luckily for Chenle, Jisung came to him with the letter, out of breath and excited. 

“They say it’s from your family! Well, I think, since the chief said it’s sealed with the kind of expensive seals only your family is able to afford. Besides, none of us came from great, big Seoul.” Jisung hops onto the kitchen counter alongside Chenle, whose left hand was busied holding a bowl of berries.  _ Was,  _ since Jisung swiped it off his hand to replace the bowl with the sealed letter. Chenle thought about his family for a moment, his antagonizing hand retreating from  _ almost  _ snatching the bowl of berries back from Jisung. “I’ll read it privately, then,” Chenle shrugged, shoving his own ass off of the counter. 

“If you’re leaving, or something,” Jisung cuts him off, and Chenle turns around, incredulous to how Jisung could get to that conclusion. “Tell me.”

“What,” Chenle taunts, chuckling, “too afraid to live alone in the middle of the farm?”

_ “Chenle!” _

It’s Jaehyun, that’s for sure. Chenle’s parents aren’t able to make guesses as accurately as his genius adopted brother, and the handwriting--though it has evolved generously through the years of his cut off communication with his family--looks annoyingly similar to Jaehyun’s old handwriting. How old should Jaehyun be, by now? Twenty-four? 

The content puts Chenle off, though. 

It’s Jaehyun, of course, and he’s writing down important updates in his life, but he’s not directing it to anyone. Certainly not to Chenle, since he doesn’t feel referred to, at all. And what the fuck are  _ these?  _ Who are these names? They sound. . . familiar. Maybe because they’re not korean names, but maybe because he’s seen them somewhere. 

Chenle groans, rolling around on his bedding while hitting his forehead to the covered floor. 

He’s not the absolute best when it comes to remembering names, especially without visual context. If he’s never seen their face, they’re automatically forgotten in the forgotten pile, labeled as trash in the back of his mind. 

And what are  _ these? _

Chenle stops headbanging for a second, squinting his eyes to read more sentences. Unstable? Who’s unstable? Is that Taeyong? Why does Jaehyun write about Lee Taeyong? Why are there so many questions, and why is he invested in a situation which would bite him in the ass if he reads too much into it? Oh, right.

Because the letter was  _ fucking  _ sent to him. 

How did the village’s chief even know, by the way? That it’s an expensive seal? And why did he give it to Jisung?

Chenle rose from his feet, panicky, cursing himself from taking a generous sip off of Jisung’s iced coffee earlier this noon. Caffeine does him no good, especially when he’s supposed to think. God, Chenle hasn’t been pushed to think this much for over a decade, now. He’s only pushed into a devilish round of thinking for his growing vegetables, fruits, and how to kill pests without remembering that one traumatic night where he caught his adopted brother and his boyfriend post-cat-killing. 

This type of pseudo-mystery bullshit-

-ah.

Someone must’ve met the chief, huh. Someone who caught him in a conversation interesting enough that the chief brought  _ him  _ up. Possibly someone who’s dressed in something unfit for villagers, since that would invite their over-retirement age chief to comment about things like, ‘you from the city, kid?’ and the person would have to reply, and engage in a conversation that would lead to Chenle. What kind of conversation would it be? 

Would the person lie about going to school? Nah, that type of stuff expired a while ago, no school is open these days. Would they be. . . trying to find escapism? From the shark infested waters that are the city, where the monsters are scattered- no. Couldn’t be. The chief would be too scared to continue their conversation, and they’d be marked as dangerous. That is, if this person isn’t  _ stupid.  _ But they can’t be. They successfully boggled Chenle enough from sleeping, and he knows it might be that stupid coffee, but-

What if the villagers have heard rumours about how  _ he  _ hates the cities? Or that he’s avoiding coming home, to his parents. Maybe. Do they also know of his adopted brother? They surely know a  _ brother  _ figure exists, since his parents and Jaehyun dropped him off when middle school started and Chenle never returned since then. . .

Would that lead to the chief telling a random visitor that Zhong Chenle lives here?

It can’t be Jaehyun.

Wanna know why? Because Jaehyun would  _ ask  _ the chief where Zhong Chenle lives, finally getting a hold of his adopted brother and barging into his home, demanding that he returns. Not for their parents, but possibly for himself. Chenle can’t pretend he doesn’t notice how Jaehyun seemingly needed him for something. His plan, obviously, but Chenle never wants in. 

It could just be Jaehyun’s friends, but Chenle can’t fathom being  _ that  _ important of a pawn for Jaehyun so that he’d go out of his way to send a friend over. If this was the case, however, he’s in grave danger of being found. He’s already figured out, apparently, since this letter reaches him--but he’s yet to be found. Which would mean it  _ is  _ Jaehyun’s friends, or underdogs, at this point--he doesn’t know how powerful Jaehyun has gotten--is stalling time. But why would they stall time, if Jaehyun knows how easy Chenle could avoid them?

Except if he doesn’t know.

Wait, hold on-

Chenle opens his bedroom door to find Jisung in the kitchen, grinding some half-dried tomatoes on a pan. The younger gave him a split second of glare before he went back to stomping on the tomatoes with a stone mortar, the crease between his eyes increasing. “You drank half of my iced coffee,” the younger accused--barely an accusation, since Chenle never tried hiding it--yet he’s occupied by something else, at the moment. “Please make another one.”

“Wait, humour me for a second, Jisung _ -ssi,”  _ Chenle holds his hand up, laying the letter flat against the kitchen’s table. Jisung averted his eyes, almost as smooth as he continued; “I thought you wanted to have some sort of privacy reading it,” he chuckles, laughing at Chenle’s habit of slipping into formal-banter when it’s time to use his brain. “But go ahead, Chenle _ -nim.” _

“Do you remember that one news a long time ago of illegal children that were infiltrated into a few countries,” Chenle’s fingers flicker here and there, hovering over the table. Jisung still refuses to look at the flattened letter. “I don’t. . . recall?”

“They were from China,” Chenle provides, picking the letter up, squinting at the fading ink. “The. . . kids?” Jisung responded, and Chenle gave him an enthusiastic nod. “Oh, that explains it,” Jisung chuckles to himself, scratching the back of his neck, where his overgrown reddened hair sits calmly. Most of the times when he was asked about it, Jisung said it’s not itchy and ‘he’s growing it out on purpose,’ but he does do the scratching thing when he’s nervous. 

“Explains?” Chenle tilts his head, waiting for the younger to elaborate. 

“I’d have nightmares for weeks when something bad happens, you know. Or is like, on the news. And I used to have nightmares about being kidnapped and sold to another country because they’d repeat the news over and over again, around the same time those  _ other  _ two kids were kidnapped, right? And just a little before one of the victims returned home and mass-murdered his father’s co-workers, or something? I think.”

Chenle doesn’t feel familiar with any of this information, and rounded it up with the fact that he’s probably in his brain rut at that time, thinking of personal ways to avoid growing up with Jaehyun by his side. Maybe he should’ve done that while paying attention to the news, but, oh well. 

“And in my dreams the names of the children got so. . . disoriented. It’s so weird, because I’m used to dreaming in high definition details,” Jisung stops for a second when Chenle gives him a ridiculous look. “Shut up, Chenle. Anyways. Apparently it’s because the kids are from another country, huh? I was probably not used to foreign sounding names when I was nine.”

“Now,” Chenle emphasizes, and Jisung frowns. “Huh?”

“You’re still not used to foreign sounding names, even until now. My name sounds pretty usable here, is what I’m saying. Even when I’m not a local.”

“Do you always have to be so rude?” Jisung sends Chenle a kick with his right feet, balancing the rest of his body on his left. This left him a little imbalanced, however, and Chenle took the chance to shove him away. Jisung didn’t fall. Almost, which was more upsetting than failing completely, but Chenle focused both of their eyes back on the letter with a single movement of his index finger onto the table.

“Read the names, please.”

Jisung looks at Chenle with his first unreadable expression, ever. Jisung’s never been hard to read, ever since Chenle found him lounging outside the toilet during their middle school days, waiting for his friend to come out only to notice said friend escaping from the window, stringing Jisung along to blame the absence upon someone. So the sudden shift was, to say the least, weird.

“Were they your family, Chenle?” Jisung voices a question, concern washing all over his face soon after those words came out from between his lips. “The missing children? No, but I can see why you’d think that,” Chenle concludes, relief submerging him in waves too strong for him to avoid. He’s ultimately glad Jisung’s thoughts are still easily read, and that his younger friend is still an open book--at least to him--but then wondered briefly if he’s toxic for thinking the way he does. Either way.

“Then why does your family member. . . write about them? I’m guessing, I mean, I don’t know why else you want me to read your letter after asking that, especially after you claimed that it’s privacy,” Jisung raises both of his--gigantic--hands, completely blocking Chenle’s view of his panicking face.  _ Huh.  _

“Jisung,” Chenle chuckles, drawing the syllables out. “Look at you, deducing things. I’m so proud of your progress.” 

“Shut up, Chenle- if you won’t tell me what’s up I’m going to lie. I don’t know, none of these people sounds familiar to me. Good day,” the younger - yet taller - young man shoves both the letter and Chenle out of the kitchen, though to no avail. “This is my house before it’s ours, Jisung, you’ve got big guts shoving me around.”

Chenle has a little idea why the sentence stops Jisung completely, and even further did the clue get verified when Jisung returns to his tomato-squishing with a pout on his face, hiding the ever-growing redness of his cheeks. Which was good. It’s-  _ cute. _

“Read it, Jisung.”

“You’re misusing your power here, Zhong Chenle,” Jisung huffs, acting completely unabashed which led him to looking the absolute opposite. Chenle made no comment on it.    
“Read.”

“I’m going to-  _ huh?” _

Chenle leans over faster than he’s ever moved in his life, and that’s saying a lot, since he’s been tasked to chase a wild boar once. He ran onto Jisung’s shoulder, and half-expected (though it’s not the perfect timing to think things like it) for the younger to do all the ‘I’m definitely not flustered!’ act all over again, yet was met with nothing but a confused Jisung. 

“Hen- dery?” the younger spells out, though the name sounds somehow foreign coming from his tongue. But it also, somehow, holds some kind of significance. As if he’s. . . met him before. Once, at least.  _ Oh?  _ Country bumpkin Jisung has met foreigners even Chenle hasn’t?

“He- he’s the one who gave. . . you. . . this letter.”

Chenle blinks, twice. 

“Did he leave?” Chenle asks, and Jisung frowns. “You’re not going to ask me where I met him, or-” the younger tilts his head, and Chenle leans away from his personal bubble. “Well, I know. You met him at the chief’s vegetable market, dressing like the embodiment of a city boy. It was a ‘coincidence’ that I made you deliver this weekly’s quota at the same time this Hendery man walks by, and the chief stopped you to say ‘This one lives with that man you’re looking for!’ or something of the sort, did he not?”

“Well, the chief said your name, so. . . I thought he was a mailman. But thinking about it again, no mailman dresses like that.”

“Why would a mailman tell you his name, Jisung?” Chenle stops his victory dance, and Jisung does the scratching thing again. “Don’t scratch too hard, I don’t know where we could get chickweeds without paying for it. So did this Hendery man leave, or?” 

“I’m guessing-” Jisung cuts himself off when Chenle disappears to open the front door. While he’s midway onto telling Chenle to remember wearing his hat, in case it was raining outside, Jisung stops dead on his track, meeting Chenle’s frozen state in front of the door.

Beyond their front door, however, stood a group of people Jisung has never seen before. Well, there’s one.

“Hi, Zhong Chenle,” the one standing in the middle croaks out, voice sounding like he’s a heavy smoker. He probably is, considering the scent stuck to his outer, fancy coat. His hair stands out from the rest, bright red kept into a loose bun on top of his head, two strands of outgrown bangs decorating the sides of his face. There’s a piercing in the middle of his lips and eyebrows, and Jisung has never been this overwhelmed with the sense of a metropolitan city radiating from a single person. 

“Lee Taeyong?” Chenle replied, his voice striking a chord he’s never tried to reach before.

. . . .

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Mark waves his hands, trying to be as  _ non  _ menacing as possible while Jisung flies here and there, providing their seven guests with warm herb tea. Luckily for him, Jisung is in a debatably good mood the entire day, save for that one encounter with Hendery which led him to believing he’s going to lose his housemate for good. He doesn’t know why he thought so, either, since Chenle’s the one who technically owns this house.

“It’s fine,” Jisung places the last one in front of Jeno, who shyly nods at the taller man. “I usually sleep a lot later than this.”

A lie.

It’s almost 3AM in the morning at this point, and Chenle’s being cornered--more like he cornered himself, since Taeyong was really open into spilling the beans in front of Jisung, too, despite not knowing him for long, but Chenle wanted to ask a lot of things. . . about his adopted brother, that much Jisung knows--and there’s little to no sign of them being done. It’s fine. Jisung’s not as much of an introvert as he was back in school, thankfully enough, slowly gaining more wit and sharpness as he hangs around both Chenle and the local farmers. He’s able to entertain people with his interest in them, maybe. But tomorrow he’s--going to pass out. 

Jisung hopes Chenle won’t mind.

“I’ve seen the news, yes,” Chenle scratches the front of his hairline, stopping himself when a radiant picture of Jisung appeared in his head. Taeyong caught him hesitating. “It started around the time you and Jaehyun killed a cat together, huh?”

Taeyong’s eyes seemed as if they zoomed in on Chenle as the elder’s folded hands squeezed themselves tighter around his sides.

“We didn’t kill the cat together. I thought you’d know that by now. It was his idea, to excuse his back and forth excursion to the attic to feed and get me clothes. I didn’t have anywhere else to go at that point, killed my disgusting, touchy old hag who adopted me for. . . fun--so I ran over to your house. The idea was to just find a dead animal and make Yoonoh -  _ pretend  _ to make a fuss over its death. I can’t wait for him to get back from school, however, and picked up a stray cat,” Taeyong shrugs, and Chenle feels the corner of his eyes twitch as he proceeds to digest the information. “And I was hungry. And it wasn’t,” Taeyong, as if mirroring Chenle’s behaviour, twitches as well, “human. It wasn’t human.”

“The congress people that were massacred were, though. They were human. Very much so,” Chenle tuts, leaning on his elbows to bring his long gone cold teacup to his lips. He blows absentmindedly. “Was that some of your friends?”

“It’s Minhyung,” Taeyong tilts his head over to point at Mark without being blatantly obvious. “I can’t speak for him. He probably has his own reasons.”

Taeyong picks up his own cup, though his eyes seem nostalgic as he glances somewhere else. Chenle has a rough idea of where Taeyong is at right now, mentally, but decided not to say anything about it.

“Nice place you got here,” Taeyong speaks after a few beats of silence, only filled with the chatter coming from their background. Chenle’s mildly surprised that Jisung can hold his own social stance in a conversation with six other people, but he’s not doing that much better with Taeyong in front of him, even when he’s only one person. Barely one person, however, since he looks. . . and acts. . . hollow. “Thanks,” Chenle chuckles, shocking himself at how he sounds like a stable old farmer who is glad he’s spent his entire life away from the city--simply by expressing gratitude. 

“Better than Yoonoh’s place back in noise pollution land.”

A million thoughts ran over Chenle’s mind at the moment, some about how he should’ve known that even after the fateful cat-killing night, Taeyong and Jaehyun are still attached by the hip like some conjoined twin. But other thoughts such as a glutinous need to feel as if he’s done something good, at least, when there’s a group of shapeshifting humanoids (except for the fact that they are, still human) sitting calmly in his living room without a trace of fear and uncomfort--especially after his own adopted brother’s boyfriend complimented his house over Jaehyun’s. It’s warranted, right? The shameless pride. 

“There’s more pollution than just noise back there,” Chenle huffs, leaving the leafy scraps of his herb tea on the bottom of his dried cup. “Makes sense how the people I know are all insane. And it’s been what, barely a decade?” he snorts.

Taeyong, luckily enough, looks unbothered. Not offended, either, which is good--as far as Chenle can tell. The older is trying to suppress a smile, even, looking down on the droplets of tea he spilled by chance on his dark grey t-shirt. “I’ve wished for a life shorter than this past decade, I’ll tell you that,” Taeyong sighs, cracking his joints, “but maybe learning to live like you won’t be so bad.”

“You stole Jaehyun’s work memos to invite yourself over to my house for a  _ holiday?”  _ Chenle questions, tone mocking but there’s no actual bite to his question. “Not holiday,” Taeyong stood up from his seat in the corner, “we’re hiding from people. No worries, Chenle, they’re not going to find us here.”

“How do you know?”

Taeyong gave him a look. “Who would touch  _ your  _ land, Sir big scary burly farmer? Even Guanheng was shaking to his boots when he was tasked to find your house. You feel?”

“Who’s Guanheng?” Chenle reaches for his back pocket for the crumpled paper he shoved in there without further thoughts. “Ah,” Taeyong rubs the back of his palm, “Hendery. I think that’s what he introduced himself as- when he met. . . your friend.”

Chenle felt the knowing look Taeyong spared him, emphasizing on  _ friend.  _

But like all the other instances, Chenle’s too busy at the moment, scanning through the ‘letter’ while straightening out the natural creases it got from being squished against a corner of his jeans’ pocket. “Wong Kun-Hang?”

Taeyong nods, “The kid has a lot of names.”

“He was the one. . . from the news?” Chenle asks yet again, and Taeyong looks concerned. “What news-”

“Oh not  _ new  _ news, it was from. . . twelve years ago. When you and that Minhyung kid were kidnapped there were also, you know, overlapping news that there were illegal children getting smuggled into other nations. There were three names they broadcasted -  _ though I have no idea why they broadcasted it  _ \- and if I’m not mistaken, this Guanheng could be one of them,” Chenle spared Jisung’s back a quick glance, “if I can just get someone to remember it for me.”

“Jisung?” Taeyong questions, his eyebrows quirked in a weird direction.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. He said he was traumatized by the news for weeks, dreamt of the names, even. He recognized Hendery’s name, earlier too, but that was probably because he  _ just  _ met him at the chief’s grocery store. Speaking of--why do Jaehyun write things like this?” Chenle stops talking, running out of breath. 

“He works with the people who dissected us,” Taeyong provides, “and he’s responsible for noting our progress down. We didn’t know he was writing it down to send it back to the lunatics who performed our bodily modification, and when we figured it out, things went. . . a little awry.” 

“Oh,” Chenle responds, hesitant and softly. He doesn’t know what to say. 

“Why would Jaehyun work with. . . them?” 

“Who knows? Haven’t asked him yet, and he’s already blown up. I don’t like communicating when my conversing partner is hotheaded. And Yoonoh isn't always hotheaded, but lately he’s been growing much more impatient, as time passes,” Taeyong plays with the dried flower floating on the surface of his herb tea. Chenle follows the serene movement with his eyes. “Could it be that he still wants to protect you, somehow? He’d probably think it’ll be unhealthy for you to live outside of the antagonists’ supervision, or something. Maybe he’d seen something new, working with them,” Chenle says, hoping that he’s just providing an alternative and not  _ also  _ charted as picking up a fight with Lee Taeyong. “Maybe,” Taeyong scoffs, but Chenle’s glad it’s not fully directed to him, “but he won’t tell us what it is. And I won’t take it if he’s just trying to protect  _ me.” _

Chenle turns his head to look at Taeyong. 

“Won’t take his help?” 

The redheaded man nods at this, sparing Chenle a glance. “You didn’t, either.”

“It’s different. I ran away. It’s not like Jaehyun’s ever offered me help. Not like I’d accept it, though, you’re right,” Chenle chuckles at this, sliding his empty cup to the sink. It settles at the bottom with a muted ‘clink’. “So that’s it?” 

“What’s it?” Taeyong stopped daydreaming in a heartbeat.

“You two fought and now the entire world is endangered?”

. . . .

Jisung is absolutely out of it when he hears his door creak open. He’s awake, yes, but his head feels cloudy. It’s bright outside, though not entirely, and he can’t figure out if it’s because of the shades Chenle knitted for him or because it’s cloudy outside. 

He made a point to turn and face the wall, his hefty blanket cocooning him like an uncooked tortilla skin. 

After barely humming out noises to respond to Chenle’s beckoning from the door, Jisung felt a cold hand making itself comfortable on the crook of his neck, and he  _ almost  _ screeched. 

“Chenle,” Jisung complains, voice coming out whinier than usual, save for the multiple decibel drop of his morning-time vocal chords. This drew a laugh out of his older friend, and Jisung snorts from the upcoming slaughter of tickles he is yet to experience, but he knows is coming. “If you’re not up in three you’re going to have to swallow breakfast that  _ I  _ made,” Chenle taunts, and this made Jisung shoot out of bed fast enough to be considered awake. 

“Please don’t.”

Jisung staggers to the kitchen, his hopes of resigning from life for the day all gone in a desert filled with the possibility of Chenle cooking breakfast. It’s not as if the older is bad at it. . . he’s just- spicy. In all sorts of ways he could possibly be. He likes spices as much as Jisung enjoys tranquility and stable recipes in cooking. 

Chenle won’t have that.

If he’s allowed to experiment on spices and everything nice, he’d do just that; which caused them a shortage of spices--whether it be sauce or dried ones--a lot faster every year when compared to a normal household, since Chenle poured an entire mug of dried chilli pepper once, on a soup-based delicacy. Jisung had to use it as a compost to not let it go to waste - since it was, evidently, too spicy for either of their tongues. 

The chief liked it, however, and praised Chenle’s cooking abilities.

“Where are. . . the guests?” Jisung questions, and Chenle pointed outside. “Walked around. Hendery was excited since the morning air was so cold--he dragged everyone else to the main street. I think they met someone, I’m not sure. That Lee kid at the rice field is probably awake, by now isn’t he?”

“Donghyuck?” Jisung questions, and Chenle made an affirmative noise followed by a; “That’s his name, yeah.”

“Donghyuck’s older than you, Chenle,” Jisung reminds his friend, who is now sitting on a stool with his magnifying glass, focusing on the dried flowers on his work-table. “Uh huh?” Chenle responds, only sparing the younger a glance when Jisung turns the stove on after three failing trials. “Referring to Donghyuck _ -hyung  _ with a  _ hyung  _ would be more socially acceptable,” Jisung continues, leaving the stove to heat up before he puts the pan over it. “I’m also older than you?” Chenle huffs, his tweezers hovering over a perfectly dried piece of calendula flower.

“We don’t conform to social normativity in this household, however,” Jisung defended himself, and Chenle snorted. 

“I hope they don’t mind radish,” Jisung hums after a few silent seconds. Chenle made some sort of croaking noise that could easily be mistaken as an old man wheezing, soon followed with a joke Jisung wished he’ll be able to unhear. 

“Don’t worry, Jisung,” Chenle chuckles, “your radish is. . .  _ rad.” _

“Sometimes I genuinely wish you’d just stop talking-”

“Don’t cut it that harsh, Park Jisung, you’ll hurt yourself,” the older protests, and he was met with silence. 

Chenle switches here and there to help Jisung with the dishes and framing their dried flowers, and sooner than expected, the kitchen’s table was overflowed with the kind of homemade food that hurts you in a nostalgic way. 

“I’ll tell them Mommy finished their breakfast,” Chenle sing-songed, and Jisung was a little too late in processing the sentence.

“Zhong Chenle!?”

_ “This is so nice,”  _ Sungchan sighs, a pout decorating his lips before he consumes his cold water happily. He’s finished eating a lot later when compared to everyone else, and Chenle (with his usual belated realization when it comes to general things) discovered that they’re born in the same year. Only. . . Sungchan was less lucky of being blessed with a normal life. Chenle felt the back of his neck burn in shame. Or pity, he doesn’t know at this point. 

“Right,” Mark chimes in, nodding at Jisung’s unaffected posture as the younger sits hunched on his seat, slowly finishing his due diligence. “Jisung’s a great cook,” Mark continued with his compliments, and Jisung shifts from the embarrassment.

It’s at the point where Sungchan volunteered to help him with fieldwork that Chenle realized, grimly, how it feels to have a friend. Not grim because of Sungchan, gods no. The boy is fun. Helpful, and cheerful. There’s also an air around him that makes Chenle feel like he’s at school again, in the city, but this time with friends who are nice and less. . . judgemental. 

He’s grim since it felt impossible for him before this. To have a decently lively conversation with people. Before Jisung. Before he retreated to the rural areas, leaving his family behind for the sake of his own stability. And because he wanted to avoid his adopted brother and his insane boyfriend.

It’s ironic that Taeyong is the one who caught up to him here, and his friends hanging around his shoulders are. . . more or less, a welcomed change in Chenle’s life. He thought about the fact grimly, for a while, thinking if he’s made wrong decisions throughout his life for lady luck to flip him off this way and provide him a scenario he’d never thought about. 

Until he’s chopping down wild plants on a ground where wild plants don’t even grow anymore, and Sungchan’s been calling out to him for a while now, wondering why the more experienced gardener is ramming his cleaver passionately on dirt. Chenle needs to stop zoning out, maybe. 

“What was that for?” Sungchan questions, tilting his head to see over Chenle’s shoulder. Chenle debated for a while on what the question was even  _ about,  _ but Sungchan’s raw curiosity brought Chenle back to the present. “Oh, nothing. I was just. . . zoning out. Thinking of dinner. You know.”

Sungchan made an attentive noise, going back to pulling out wild plants all the way to its core. “I thought it was some sort of fertilizing method!”

And the kid, despite being his age--or possibly older than him by a few months--looked like a very satisfied puppy, accompanied by the smudge of dirt on his cheeks and his rolled up sleeves. It contrasted how he looked when he first got here, hidden behind Hendery and Yangyang (who weren’t really doing their job of hiding him correctly, with their height). He looked dimmed and lifeless, as if he just got his lifeline cut off and he’s in desperate need to find a new one, pour some gasoline to the dying flame. He was probably hungry, at that point, which explained his ghastly look, but Chenle felt it again as he remembers the difference. The warranted pride he felt the other night. 

Everytime he feels as if he’s done some wrong things and made some wrong decisions, the world proves to him that his path of life is just fine. Clearly not better than most, but it’s fine. It suffices for him, for Jisung, and momentarily--maybe these kids who Taeyong is hiding. 

And Taeyong himself.

Even though the older man is, in some way or another, one of the few reasons he escaped.

“I fertilize the plants with shit, usually,” Chenle chimes in, making sure he’s looking out at the world without his worry-tainted-glasses, for once. 

_ Change is fine, for the time being. _

“. . .like animal shit, right?” Sungchan questions, the discomfort in his face showing.

_ Change is fine, for Zhong Chenle. _

“You think me or Jisung would shit into a pot and call it a day? How would that even work?” Chenle huffs, looking down at the opened gap of dirt beneath him, noticing the wriggly worms trying their best to escape sunlight. “No- I didn’t! That’s why I asked-”

“Sungchan, worm!” Chenle pulled one of the wriggly creatures, half expecting the other boy to fall on his butt in shock. He didn’t.  _ Well, _ that’s okay too.

“Worm!” Sungchan echoed, and shifted closer to his side. 

Taeyong personally thinks the two looked a lot younger than what was expected of them at that moment, as they crouch over an empty patch of dirt pulling at worms and bugs--but he avoided saying it out loud, and diverted his eyes when he felt a fond smile twitch on the corners of his lips.

_ It’s warm. _

**Author's Note:**

> -the things which happened in this particular fic happened two years before the fic's present timeline.


End file.
